The Dragon Master's Son

Chapter 1

He was up to his knees in cold water, his eyes scanning the stream and his feet, ice cold, no longer had any feeling. But still, John didn't move. He waited, with the stealth of an eagle, for the small fish to make its move. It lay, silent and virtually motionless, beneath a rock in the stream. Only the occasional flick of a fin gave its position away.

“Come on,” John encouraged in a whispered hush, “Your move, little fish.”

Just then, another movement, far off through the trees, caught John's attention. Something was darting and swooping through the gnarled trunks; closing in at sinister speed. When the thing bore its talons, ready to pluck John from the stream, the small boy swivelled and, with a flick of his wrist, stopped time.

John gasped and looked down at his hands. He'd never done that before. Then he looked up in awe. The dragon hung, frozen in time and space, above his head. Its scarlet scales, at this close distance, shimmered as if on fire. John circled the beast, carefully picking a path through the woodland floor with his numb feet. He was considering where it had come from, who had sent it and why?

“A Welsh Red,” fell absently from his lips, as John gathered up his shoes and retreated to the safety of a nearby tree. Covering himself in a concealment charm, John clicked his fingers and re-ignited time.

The dragon's wings completed their beat and its talons grasped for the boy who was no longer there. Gaining height, the beast disappeared above the trees. Through gaps in the foliage, John watched the dragon turn a long, languid arc and return. It swooped a second time over the stream, as if to confirm that its prey was truly gone. It then flew away, back in the same direction John had first spied its approach.

Still under the concealment charm, John began to make his way home. As he left the wood, he removed the charm. He was now in the fields of barley that surrounded his village and that made John feel safe. The sight of the small hamlet of thatched houses, above a bend in the River Trond, always made John feel that the world was really a good place.

The village scene, as John entered, was one of utter normality. Smoke drifted from most of chimneys, as the ladies of the village prepared the midday meal. Saleema Johnstone was making her way up from the river, with two large buckets of water slung across her shoulders. Other than her, the place was, as usual, deserted. The men were in the fields tending the crops. The children, if caught by their mothers, would have been set to work fetching and carrying. But, as they had managed to slip away, then they would be hiding and playing in the woods; just as John had been.

Normality, however, ended at John's house. There was something very wrong. No smoke drifted up from his chimney. As he entered the house, John found a dwelling in a state of disarray. Pots and pans were strewn all over the dirt floor, though this wasn't unusual. Straw and cobwebs hung from the inside of the thatched roof. Again, this wasn't unusual. John's father, the dragon master, was unconcerned with domestic cleanliness. What caught John's eye immediately was the small disturbance to the furthest part of the room, his father's work area. Unlike the chaos and mess in the rest of the house, the dragon master was orderly, neat and precise when it came to the work with his favourite beasts. Any messing of his dragon equipment by John was severely punished.

“Dad?” John's call waited patiently in the lonely air of the house, for a response he knew would never come. Yet, the call had to be made. Somehow, John knew he was being watched and he had to play his part. Be the dutiful, innocent son of the dragon master. John remembered his mother's words:

“Information is key. Learn all you can.”

What he would do for her wisdom and protection right now.

The front door of the house swung timidly open and two, rather grubby, King's soldiers stumbled hesitantly into the room. They held their swords in a very non-lethal manner. John guessed these were two expendable scouts.

“Are you the dragon master?” asked the more courageous of the two.

John looked at the two frightened men and shook his head. At twelve years old, there really was no way that he was the dragon master.

“No, I'm the dragon master's son.”

John's answer was greeted with puzzlement by the two blank faces.

'Not the brightest, are they,' John thought quietly to himself.

Somewhere in the brain of one of the soldiers, the message got through. He opened the door and called outside, “It's the dragon master's son.”

John heard the man bursting into the room, long before he saw him. He had a harassed expression and a nasty manner.

“Who are you?” he snapped at John. He was obviously the man in-charge.

“I'm the dragon master's son,” John politely repeated.

“Where's the dragon master?”

“I don't know. I've only just come home.”

This the man, evidently, already knew. “Should he be here?”

“Yes.”

John watched the man's eyes as he scanned the room. Waited, while the man considered what to do.

“Is it always this messy in here?”

“Yes.”

That look again. John could see the man had come to a decision.

“He'll do. Bring him.” The man waved is hand in the direction of the work area. “And bring that stuff too.”

“What? All of it?” the two scouts gasped.

“Yes,” the officer snarled, “the lot.

Next chapter: https://vocal.media/futurism/the-dragon-master-s-son-2

The whole of book can be found at:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Dragon-Masters-Son-Brad-ebook/dp/B013YM7U2Q